The St. Michael’s Church was shrouded in an atmosphere of mourning. The church bells tolled in long, solemn peals, blending with the muffled sobs of the grieving, creating a chilling, heart-wrenching feeling. Clara stood silently beside her husband’s coffin, holding little Lucy tightly in her arms. The two-year-old struggled against her mother’s grasp, her small face flushed red from crying too much.
Clara bent down to soothe her, but Lucy refused to be calmed. The child’s innocent eyes were fixed on the wooden coffin where Samuel lay motionless. Papa.
Papa, Lucy sobbed, her tiny fingers trembling as she pointed toward the coffin. Clara swallowed hard, her hands gripping the black mourning veil. She wanted to cry, but her tears were stuck in her throat.
Samuel’s sudden death still felt like a nightmare. Just yesterday, he had kissed her before leaving the house, and now, all that remained was a cold, lifeless body. Around Clara, the villagers gathered, whispering among themselves.
No one understood how a healthy man like Samuel could die so suddenly. Some said it was an accident, while others murmured that it was fate’s punishment. Madam Rose, an elderly woman who lived near Clara, stepped closer, her eyes filled with sympathy.
She gently placed a hand on Clara’s shoulder and whispered. My dear, I know you’re in pain. But little Lucy.
Are you sure she’s all right? Clara looked down at her daughter and saw that Lucy was trembling, her wide eyes fixed on a dark corner behind the coffin. Suddenly, the child let out a piercing scream. Papa.
Papa is trapped. He’s calling for help. The air inside the church grew thick with unease.
A murmur spread through the crowd. Many exchanged nervous glances, while others hurriedly made the sign of the cross. Madam Rose took a shaky step back, covering her mouth with her hand.
My God. The child can see, she whispered in a voice full of dread. A chill ran down Clara’s spine.
She turned to Lucy, trying to keep her voice steady. Lucy, what did you say, she asked, though her heart was already pounding with fear. Papa is there.
He’s calling for help. Mama, he’s trapped. Lucy insisted, still pointing toward the dark corner.
A cold breeze swept through the church, making the altar candles flicker. No one spoke, but Clara could feel the tension thickening in the air. Just then, the church doors creaked open with a slow, eerie sound.
A tall man stepped inside, his face stern. It was Henry, Samuel’s cousin. Dressed in a black suit, his dark eyes scanned the crowd before settling on Clara.
He approached her with a sympathetic smile that felt strangely insincere. Clara, you must be exhausted, Henry said, his voice deep and deceptively gentle. We’re all heartbroken over Samuel’s passing.
Clara only gave a slight nod, too drained to respond. Henry’s gaze flickered to Lucy, who was still clutching her mother’s dress, staring intently at the dark corner. The little one is too young to understand.
It’s best not to let her say such things it might frighten people, he said, his tone carrying a subtle sharpness. Clara frowned slightly. His words unsettled her.
She’s just grieving for her father, she replied, trying to remain composed. Henry nodded, but his expression quickly shifted. Clara, I hate to bring this up now, but you know Samuel left behind a lot of financial trouble.
Your house, it might be best to consider selling it to settle his debts. Clara froze, a wave of dizziness washing over her. Sell the house? What are you talking about? You know, Henry sighed with feigned concern, Samuel was a good man, but he had his share of troubles.
I’m just thinking about what’s best for you and Lucy. A cold dread seeped into Clara’s bones. She had never trusted Henry, and now, before Samuel had even been laid to rest, he was already talking about money.
Lucy suddenly clung tighter to her mother’s hand, her eyes glistening with tears. She pointed at the coffin again and spoke in a small yet clear voice. Papa is trapped.
Henry’s head snapped around, his face momentarily frozen. The tension in the church thickened. Those standing nearby began inching away, no one daring to speak.
Clara crouched down, her heart pounding in her chest. Lucy, what did you just say? Lucy looked up at her mother, her tiny face filled with fear. Papa hasn’t left.
He’s still here. He’s calling for Mama. A suffocating silence settled over the church.
A woman standing nearby, Margaret, tugged at another’s sleeve and whispered. This is not a good sign. A child so innocent wouldn’t lie.
Clara tightened her grip on Lucy’s little hand, trying to stop herself from trembling. Meanwhile, Henry clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering with unease. Children have vivid imaginations, he forced a chuckle, but Clara noticed his hands balling into fists.